It is 10.20 am.
I hear my husband, talking in the kitchen to the social worker and trainee, carers for the day.
Why Social Services, are prepared to pay their higher rates again, never before, on a Saturday, to sit in the kitchen all day, remains, a worrying mystery.
My husband had met and gret them.
Issy still in bed.
Up briefly last night, to eat some of food left out.
The bath is ready. Her clothes laid out.
My husband was annoyed, yesterday’s mop-gate.
He asks the social worker, why she asked me to buy a second mop, when we already had one, and, said I could do without the hassle.
I hear her indignantly reply,
‘I wish I hadn’t asked now’.
Both remain, silent, in their chairs.
I’m desperate for a coffee, so despite dreading it, I wander into the kitchen towards the kettle.
Seamus continues, like me, desperate to break through their silent impasse.
‘Finola’s worried sick about Issy’.
‘We are all worried about her ‘, bleats the trainee.
’Then why don’t you ask about her’, I find myself retorting.
I can’t remember, the exact ramblings that ensued, but, remember the trainee lady, opening the window from her seat, holding her head, and, appearing, as if on the wailing wall,.
‘You know my own nephew is in independent living, and I have told you I am worried about him’.
’ We are supporting Isabel’.
‘We have been very well trained to support Isabel….’
She wailed, as if persecuted .
But by what?
My wondering why she couldn’t discuss why Issy was in bed?
Why couldn’t she just to that, instead of the silent sulks, and now histrionics.
I can’t remember exactly, what I then said, but, it involved mentioning, that the social worker was a social worker.
To which she grabbed her coat, and rushed out of the house with a,
‘I’m not having people accusing me of being a social worker’.
And both were gone.
It was by then 10.25pm.
They were booked until 7.00 pm.
We had hoped to take a trip out to Bakewell.
Boy did we need to get away, but, it was not to be.
No one rang from the agency, or, anywhere.
Isabel remained in bed.
She got up at 6.00 pm, her bed dry; she ate some fish and potatoes, but appeared sleepy, and went back to bed
All day Sunday, she spent in bed.
I am worried sick about her, but what can I do?
We are beleaguered.
Monday dawns, no workers arrive at 10.00 am, and no phone calls.
Its Tuesday, as I post this.
The state is silent, but what are they doing ?